In a perfect world I’d have walked over to the checkout stands, where there are always a lot of people, gathered my confidence, and yelled at the top of my lungs, STOP FOLLOWING ME. Instead, when the aisles started closing in and my vision went funny, I turned and ran. I ran as fast as I could out of the market where I saw, crossing the street in front of me, the backs of six uniformed police officers. The screaming that erupted from me at that point was entirely involuntary.

“Help! Help! Help! I’m being followed!” I shrieked, waving my arms over my head madly. All six officers turned around, looked at me, and kept walking.

Thank God the lights were in my favor because when I realized the cops were walking away I bolted across the street without even checking for traffic. I chased those cops down, waving my arms and screaming the whole time. When I finally caught up with them I was out of breath and furious.

“Hey! I need help! I’m being followed!

The one who looked like he’d just started shaving last week smirked and said, “What do you want us to do about it?”

I wasn’t sure what to say, because I’d always assumed that cops became cops so they could protect people, that protecting people was their job. The way they were glaring at me as if I was an annoying kid sister was too much, so I started crying. Not on purpose, it was just my natural reaction, but it worked. All six of them puffed up, put their hands on their guns and swiveled their heads around in search of a suspect.

“What happened? Where’s the guy? What’s he look like? Is that him?”

I looked in the direction the cop was pointing and there was Mike, looking completely baffled, waving frantically, the little dogs barking and snarling at his feet.

“Um, no, that’s my husband.”

“Why’s he on his cell phone? He callin’ the cops?”

He wasn’t, he was trying to call me. Right then the homeless man came stumbling out of the market and I pointed him out to the cops, who asked him to leave. Just like that, the whole thing was over.

Mike was silent on the walk home, while I told him what had happened in the store. I’d been pretty freaked out, was shaking while I told him how frightened I’d been, how narrow the aisles were, how the moment the man started growling, he’d been less than an arm’s length away. It hadn’t even occurred to me that the situation could have been handled a different way until Mike suddenly erupted in apologies. He pulled me to his chest and ruffled my hair.

“I never should have let you go off alone. I thought he was going to come after me, but I made you a target, I sent you off by yourself and I am so, so sorry.”

Monday afternoon was sunny and gorgeous and because we knew rain was predicted for the rest of the week, Mike and I decided to take the dogs to the off-leash park. We stuffed our pockets with treats and poop bags and tennis balls and were on our way. A few blocks from home, while Valentine was crouched to do her business, a homeless man with a long grey beard walked up and reached out for her. Thinking the man was trying to pet Valentine, who does not like to be touched by strangers, Mike leapt between them, laughing and warning to be careful because the little yellow one bites.

She doesn’t, actually, but she is an unpredictable little dog and while most days she’d froth at the mouth and lunge at anyone trying to pet her, that day she just squatted by the tree, doing her business. She didn’t seem at all bothered when the homeless man began chanting and petting the tree under which she pooped, but I was not pleased and neither was Mike. We couldn’t wait for her to finish and when she was done we couldn’t walk away fast enough. Then I glanced over my shoulder and saw that he was following us.

I wanted to believe he was just headed in the same direction, but it was a little disconcerting that he insisted on walking so close to us. When he started chanting about white devils and stolen dogs I got a little nervous. I looked over at Mike and he grinned and suggested that when we get to the market, I give him the dogs and go inside, and let him talk to “our friend”. So I stayed calm, because my husband had a plan, and it was a good plan. The market was less than a block away and I could all ready see the usual crowd gathered in front. I was sure that once we were surrounded by people the whole thing would dissipate and Mike wouldn’t even need to address the guy.

For the next part of the story to make sense, I need to explain that our neighborhood market is not like those sprawling, glittering Mecca’s of rare wines and organic canned soup you find in suburbia. Our market is a tiny, dingy market with aisles so narrow you can’t fit a cart through them. It’s so small it could fit in the deli section of most suburban super markets. It’s so small that when I stand at the checkout paying for my groceries, my butt rubs against the butt of the cashier at the checkout behind me.

So when I got inside the store and realized the man had followed me in, I kind of freaked out. I ducked into the cereal aisle, walking so fast I was practically running. I looked over my shoulder and he was there. I started feeling claustrophobic. My heart was racing, my breath quickened and my limbs tingled. I turned into the canned food aisle and the man followed me. The next time I looked over my shoulder he waved his hands in the air, bared his teeth and growled.